


Let all things that are special be laid down to die

by tenderfirstlove



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byleth loves gardening, Byleth's mother's name is Celica, DID YALL KNOW CHAMOMILE FLOWER MEANS PATIENCE ??, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, HE WAS WAITING ALL THIS TIME !!!, I'm crying, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Mentioned Jeralt Reus Eisner, POST EDIT, Sothis teases Byleth, Spoilers, YALL ITS SITRI, emotionally repressed byleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-21 12:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderfirstlove/pseuds/tenderfirstlove
Summary: After Jeralt's death, Byleth can't get past the nagging feeling he just didn'tgiveenough back.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	Let all things that are special be laid down to die

**Author's Note:**

> ur damn right i listened to some sad songs on my series playlist to write this

_'To think that the first time I saw you cry..Your tears would be for me'..._

The day his father died, Byleth promised that he would never forget, no matter how long he may live. The things that Jeralt had said to him gnawed at his chest tirelessly for the next endless days— his chest was desolate and hollow, the despair he felt had never ceased and some days he selfishly wished that he wasn't so close to his father so that he wouldn't have to feel so strongly. So that he could finally close his eyes without his face looking at him so lovingly before they emptied and dulled. Most days he spent laying in his bed, small hands cradling and clutching to a paper pressed four-leaf clover from decades ago.

_'It's sad, and yet.... I'm happy for it.'_

For the first time in his life he felt angry, at himself but mostly at Jeralt for being so seemingly selfish about things. He was selfish because he accompanied him, he was selfish because he was thankful to the girl who murdered him a second later, he was selfish because he left him with all these feelings yet with no way to deal or adapt to them. He wanted to go back to being monotonous and plain, disaffected by the outside world. Byleth couldn't admit to himself that somethings just couldn't be fixed, even with the power of a Goddess.

_'Thank you....kid.'_

He laid in his bed that night, staring blankly up at the ceiling for some time, waiting for tears to come again and the lump in his throat to dissipate. The guilt was overwhelming, and as he wondered why he couldn't give Jeralt a better parting gift than the everlasting image of his son crying, he began to palm at his eyes as they started to burn. During the night he couldn't sleep for a second and instead snuck out to the greenhouse until sunrise, to distract himself with sweet smells and gentle textures. As he stared at his flower collection, he realized there was no flower which could translate his feelings for his father. The lump of anger, and guilt and sorrow all ebbed away as he tended to his garden, replanting and potting the small and frail things as he thought of what flowers could suit a nice bouquet on his father's grave.

The next day when he went to class, he found his gloved were missing— probably left behind in the greenhouse. So, he taught bare-handed, his palms and fingers full of small cuts and bruises from the carrying and dropping of pots and soil to the de-thorning of his fresh roses. At first, his students smiled happily, to see his professor so active and devoted to something in light of the recent loss but they were still unsatisfied with his regard for his own personal needs of sleep. Though they tried to hide it, Byleth could tell easily from their wavering smiles and telling eyes.

Their eyes never could keep a secret.

Following the night of that day, he kept planting, and potting, de-thorning and arranging the flowers in the huge indoor greenhouse. Every time he'd snuck out he could always feel a pair or so of eyes on his back and the loud shuffling of feet which would be reprimanded with an annoyed whisper behind him in the hallways. Eventually, the new seeds blossomed into vigorous and colourful flowers, full of deep meaning and devotion, he knew it was worth it when he felt the presence of the entire class within the greenhouse, and the awe-ful gazes which followed.

.

.

.

When dawn came, Byleth had used his precious hands and he bare-handedly plucked a list of flowers to arrange later into two bouquets. One for his mother's grave, and one for his father's. He thought if he has time to weep, he has time to honor. 

He started with the less decorative flowers and plants, first collecting some mint, some lavender, a few sprigs of rosemary, and one or two bulbs of the wall flower that grew up the columns of the church's greenhouse. He moved to the traditional flowers he planted, where he collected a handful of peonies and marigolds- Some edelweiss along with a single white gardenia. Lastly he took to his small make-shift desk, where he opened a paper bag full of blue and purple imported hydrangeas and hyancinths. With all his pieces collected, he got to work.

For his father, to honor his memory, he curated a small group of flowers that spoke of his affections, devotion and of his deep grief and sorrows. The languid blue and purple hydrangeas had contrasted the seemingly plain rosemary sprigs and petals of mint, of edelweiss and the flowers of the lavender. He wrapped up the thin and humble bouquet, arranging the flowers and adding a few wallflowers, and the single Gardenia. 

For his mother, to honor her hazy memory, he made a modest yet colourful batch. He put in a pink rose which matched with the small peonies, for her he included some rosemary too along with a strand or two of marigold. He finished it off with a handful of forget-me-nots and some strands of purple and blue hyacinths to emphasize how despite he did not know her at all, he still loved and grieved for her absence. 

Byleth felt intense and curious eyes peek at his back, and a single echo of footsteps before a figure stood next to him. 

"Professor..?"

The voice was overwhelmingly familiar and full of concern. 

"Yes Dimitri ?"

He heard him shift from one foot to the other, seemingly hesitant to answer.

"Why did you make two bouquets ?"

Byleth leaned back with a low hum as he stared at the ceiling once more, its familiar brick and painted over-lay comforting the pressure on his eyes. 

"Because my father was buried beside my mother. I thought I would honor her too, as an apology."

The blonde's brows furrowed at the word 'apology', what did the professor have to apologize for ? Before he opened his mouth to ask, Byleth answered as if he knew exactly what he was going to speak of.

"Because I let her down. I let her wishes down. To keep Jeralt safe, and happy. Alive like she never was."

A serene silence washed over the room.

Byleth stood up, cradling the pair of bouquets in his arms,"We should go. I don't want the flowers to dry out." That is all he said before walking toward the door and disappearing swiftly, his figure followed by a class of confused and conflicted eyes.

.

.

.

The ring his father gave burned deeply against his collarbones as he sat with legs crossed in front of his parent's graves. As he lifted his mother's bouquet and placed upon the dry soils in front of its weary tombstone which was worn with time and moss, her name was long gone and illegible— lost to the annals of times past. He gave a soft bow before he turned to his father's grave which was fresh and new, plain and simple in comparison to the decorated one of his mother's stone which was embedded with icons of roses and peonies. He traced the name of his father and his eyes lingered on the date hesitantly before he offered the bouquet to the fresh soil. His hands retracted to his lap before they formed a couple and shifted into a prayer,

"Oh Divine Goddess, listen to my prayer. I call to thee as Byleth Eisner, son of Jeralt and Sitri. With the blood and faith I offer through my daily ritual I ask thee to give a blessing to these sacred graves. I ask thee to protect and cradle what I have lain upon the soil of past time. In return I shall believe and serve twice as nimbly with these pained and grieving hands I pray with. I thank thee for your blessings, and although I feel against you— I know my faith is not misplaced. Please accept my humble offerings, Sothis."

Byleth was never a man of religion, nor had he been taught so, but he knew he needed to express some faith despite being the carrier of the Divine Goddess himself. The idea of an all seeing being looking after his parents brought him superficial comfort, but it was comfort nonetheless. 

He sat in silence for a minute before he heard a young feminine voice, immediately guessing the offender.

_"Son of Eisner I grant thee your wish and accept your devotion and faith along with your doubt. I offer thee divine protection with with pleasure and hope to see your words remaining chaste and true."_

A round face and mass of green hair made its way to his sight, rising from behind his father's grave.

_"You know you never need pray for me to grant your wishes, dear Byleth. I was with you since you were a babe and will remain with you until your life extinguishes, for there is no difference between you or I as long as I reside within you."_

Byleth stood silently, brushing the dirt off his trousers quickly before once more bowing deeply before the graves and to Sothis, showing his gratitude. 

This earned him a pleasant laugh, and he smiled softly before standing straight once more,"Shall we prepare for morning tea then, Divine Goddess?"

Sothis gazed at him with motherly eyes, only nodding saintly before she disappeared into thin air once more. 

_"I think this time I'd like to try this 'chamomile' tea of that charming young man— you know the one who keeps following you around with the rest of your class ? — adores so much! I know it must be great if you keep brewing it night after night after all!"_

Byleth only responded with a flush of his cheeks as he turned left the graves, sitting side by side, interconnected by the bouquets their son made for each of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Flower meanings
> 
> Jeralt's bouquet:  
> hydrangea - [blue] asking for forgiveness, expressing regret or thankfulness [purple] symbolizes sorrow, and the desire to understand someone better  
> wallflowers - faithfulness in adversity  
> rosemary - remembrance  
> lavender - silence, devotion, serenity  
> mint - virtue  
> edelweisse - eternal devotion  
> gardenia - secret love, in this context unexpressed love from Byleth toward Jeralt
> 
> Sitri's bouquet:  
> *centers around honoring the image Jeralt painted for Byleth and the relationship between her and Jeralt.  
> pink rose - [general] sending thanks, recognizing a romantic occasion or relationship [light] gentleness, admiration [dark] gratitude, appreciation  
> peony - happy life/marriage  
> marigold - despair & grief for loss of loved one/love , remembering the dead, a sacred offering to the Gods [SPOILER: cus rhea made her remember?]  
> forget-me-nots - remembrance  
> hyacinths - [blue] sincerity [purple] sorrow for a wrong committed deed (in this case, how he killed her in childbirth & how he couldn't save Jeralt)


End file.
